Dreaming of the Time We Were Free
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: First mission fic. When you're putting your trust in someone with sticky fingers, you'd better hope he also has a heart of gold. But when home beckons, even that gold can be tarnished.
1. Dissent Among the Ranks

_Author's notes: This fic was first intended to be a highly condensed flashback for my Stalag 6 fic. It was then intended to be a long oneshot, but rather than try to rush a long oneshot, I decided to turn it into a short multi-chapter fic. It encompasses my idea of how Newkirk came to grips with the fledgling operation at Stalag 13; in my mind, he would've been the last one to accept the idea of helping others escape while staying at the stalag. I realize that I ended up condensing some of the background of the fic, but my purpose for this fic is to focus on the first field mission and Newkirk's change of heart, rather than showing how the radio and tunnels were set up. Carter is not in this story, as he wouldn't be at Stalag 13 yet. As always, the characters aren't mine (except for the fliers, who will show up later), but the story is._

* * *

The tension in Stalag 13 that evening was so thick that Corporal LeBeau was certain he could cut a slice of it with his chef's knife and use it as an appetizer. The occupants of Barracks Two were all on edge, but none more so than his friend, Corporal Newkirk, who was pacing the room like a caged cat.

"Crackers…" the Englishman muttered, as he stared at the office door of Colonel Hogan, the man who had been their senior officer since the last seven weeks. "The man is truly and utterly crackers."

"_Pourquoi_?" LeBeau asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee to deal with his nerves. "Is it because he expects us to help three escaped fliers from Stalag 5?"

"It's impossible!" Newkirk replied. "We've gotten away with a lot these past several weeks: digging a tunnel we can't even use to escape, building a radio piece by piece, and doing it all under the nose of ol' Klink. Our luck 'as got to run out at some point!" He shook his head. "If it was just one man, we might be able to pull it off. Two is highly unlikely, but we might still get away with it. But three? I don't know about you, Louis, but I'm not going to put any faith in false 'opes; Klink isn't _that_ barmy!"

"Pierre, _le Colonel_ knows what he is doing," LeBeau answered.

"Oh, you think so?" Newkirk asked. "I didn't trust this colonel from the moment he showed up 'ere and ordered all escape attempts to stop." He kicked the stove. "No escape attempts! Does 'e except us to sit around 'ere like animals in a zoo?"

"He doesn't want to jeopardize the operation he is trying to pull together," LeBeau reminded him. "_Your_ people, Pierre, have put him in charge of it."

Newkirk muttered something unintelligibly. Clearly, he didn't think too much of his own countrymen agreeing that it was best that he stay in Stalag 13. He had been here long enough, as far as he was concerned. He was not going to stand for some American colonel ordering him to stay here for the remainder of the war; the colonel had to be insane for ordering it, and even more insane for believing that Newkirk wasn't going to use that newly completed tunnel as a route to freedom.

They had started the tunnel before Colonel Hogan had arrived; Sergeant Kinchloe had led the project, but was not giving many details. The prisoners assumed that it was going to be used as a means of escape. It had come as a shock to everyone other than Kinch when, upon arriving, the new colonel instructed them to complete it, but to cease all escape activity. Nevertheless, the men followed the orders, although Newkirk was the one most upset by the colonel's brazen order.

LeBeau had been sorely disappointed when he realized that the tunnel was not for their escape, but a part of him had begun to suspect that something huge was going to happen. For one thing, Kinch had been able to get the tools for digging the tunnel, along with parts for a two-way radio, via Oscar Schnizter's dog truck. The radio parts had been LeBeau's clue that there was more to this than met the eye; if they were going to escape, why were they bothering to construct a two-way radio? LeBeau had tried to point this out to Newkirk on several occasions, but the Englishman had been more concerned with getting _out_, rather than what had been coming _in_.

It was only a few days ago that the tunnel had come to its end outside the compound, ending at a tree stump that the men had hollowed out and used as a door. Hogan had tested the tunnel personally, giving it his approval and stating that they were ready to begin their new operation—aiding downed or captured Allied fliers on their escapes. Hogan had further astounded everyone by informing them that whoever came through this camp would return to England by submarine. They were to retrieve their first "customers" later in the night, according to Kinch, who had been manning the radio since its completion.

"It just isn't cricket, especially if London has ordered me to stay 'ere," Newkirk muttered, still glaring at Hogan's office door. His voice suddenly rose in frustration. "Is London trying to imply that I'm worthless as a member of the RAF?"

"Quite the opposite," Hogan said, as he emerged from his office in time to hear the Englishman's last comment. "Newkirk, LeBeau… I need to have a word with you two and Olsen in my office; let him know as soon as he comes in."

"_Oui, Colonel_," LeBeau answered, saluting out of habit.

"At ease," Hogan responded, though he returned the salute. He did not insist upon the men saluting him; he didn't consider himself an ordinary officer—not when they were going to turn this camp into what could be described as anything _but_ ordinary. Newkirk found this no-saluting policy to be the only thing he liked about Hogan; he had never intended to salute him at all once he realized that the colonel was putting the lid on all escape attempts, which had been Newkirk's obsession since being captured in 1940.

"It is probably about tonight," LeBeau said, as Hogan turned to Kinch. "We must be involved somehow."

"Well, I'll be right chuffed," Newkirk replied in an undertone that dripped with sarcasm.

The Frenchman stared at the Englishman, a blank expression on his face.

"I am not sure of your words, but there is no mistaking your tone of voice," he noted, turning back to refill his coffee cup.

As Hogan and Kinch both returned to the colonel's office, LeBeau had to admit to himself that maybe there were some things that Hogan just didn't seem to notice. Newkirk's attitude was no secret, so why was the colonel involving him in this plan? Did he think that getting Newkirk involved would change his mind? If LeBeau knew the stubborn Englishman as well as he thought he did, then it was going to take more than that to change Newkirk's opinion of Hogan and the operation—particularly when Newkirk wanted no part of it.

_Tonight is going to end either very well, or very badly_, the Frenchman thought to himself.

Neither he nor Newkirk spoke further until Olsen returned to the barracks. LeBeau informed the sergeant of the meeting, and the three entered Hogan's office, not sure as to what to expect.

Hogan glanced around the room, looking at each of the three before turning back to Kinch.

"Let's get started," the colonel said. "I've call you all here because of the mission we received from London; I'm sure you've heard the gist of it by now. We have to smuggle in a sergeant, a corporal, and a private into camp and get them outfitted with civilian clothes and papers. When the coast is clear, we guide them on the route to rendezvous with a member of the underground, who will take the men along the chain that will lead them to England. I need men who are ready to take the necessary risks and help these fliers; you men have the skills necessary for a mission such as this." He glanced at each of the men again. "Due to the dangerous nature of the mission, I can't order you to accept it; mission orders will only be given to those who volunteer."

"Dangerous nature?" LeBeau repeated. "But we are protected by the Geneva Convention, _non_?"

"In theory, the worst they can do to us for aiding an escape are any of the disciplinary actions laid out in the convention," Hogan agreed. "Klink and his men follow the Geneva Convention, but there's no guarantee that the other patrols in those woods do, too. Some of them can get trigger happy—shoot first, and ask questions later. Would you men be willing to risk that?"

He was met with silence as LeBeau, Newkirk, and Olsen mulled over their options. Kinch, of course, had long since volunteered his services to the cause.

"I will volunteer,_ Colonel_," LeBeau said, at last.

Newkirk's head jerked around to stare at his French friend, biting his tongue.

_Louis, what are you thinking? You just heard him say that you could die out there!_

"I'll volunteer, too," Olsen said.

Newkirk fidgeted with his sweater collar as he felt the gazes of the other men falling upon him.

"Corporal Newkirk?" Hogan asked.

"Well, it's like you said… Sir," the Englishman said, forcing himself to add the last word. "Those patrols might fire on us, and we 'aven't even got a means to defend ourselves if that 'appens."

Hogan responded by prying open a couple of the floorboards. Within a shallow pit was a small store of weapons and ammunition.

"_Incroyable_…" LeBeau gasped, his eyes widening.

"You can thank Oscar Schnitzer for these, too," Kinch said.

"I wouldn't think of sending you out there unarmed," Hogan said, slightly amused as Olsen, LeBeau, and Newkirk stared. "Does that change your mind at all, Newkirk?"

"I reckon it does," he replied.

And now it was LeBeau's turn to stare at him. Newkirk had changed his mind far too quickly for LeBeau to believe that the Englishman's words were sincere.

"Good," Hogan said, apparently satisfied. He pulled put a map of the nearby area, and pointed out a spot on the map. "We move out at 2300 hours and head for this meeting point—M14. I'll go through the tunnel first, and then Olsen will follow. LeBeau, Newkirk… you'll be backing us up; follow behind us after fifteen minutes. If anything goes wrong, we'll use the walkie-talkies to communicate. The first one back will tell Kinch to radio London and say that the mission is off. But if all goes according to plan, Olsen and I will lead the three escapees back to the tunnel. We'll get them outfitted with what they need."

"How long will they be staying here, _Colonel_?" asked LeBeau.

"That's up in the air, depending on how much pressure we're going to be getting from the Germans," Hogan admitted. "It's going to get crowded down there with three men; I'd like to get them out of here within 48 hours, if that's even remotely possible."

The men gave a few nods of understanding.

"The rendezvous point with the underground is here," the colonel went on, indicating the spot on the map. "After that, it's out of our hands. Are there any questions?"

"What if Schultz does an unannounced bed-check tonight?" Olsen asked.

"When he holds them, he usually comes by around midnight," Hogan said. "We should be back by then."

"And if you're not, I can probably convince him to look the other way," said Kinch. "Of course… chances of that will be even better if LeBeau can make some apple strudel as an insurance policy."

"Not a bad idea," Hogan said. "That way, if Schultz doesn't show up, we can have apple strudel for tomorrow's dessert."

LeBeau rolled his eyes, but nodded. Taking his leave of them, he headed back to start preparing the strudel. Newkirk soon followed him, which prompted the Frenchman to ask what was on his mind.

"_Pierre_, I know you want nothing to do with the operation," he accused, but lowering his voice. "Why did you volunteer?"

"Why did _you_ volunteer?" Newkirk countered, also quietly. "Louis, you could get done in!"

"So could you," the Frenchman countered. "You wouldn't volunteer unless you had something secretly planned."

"Well, you saw right through me," Newkirk admitted. "I suppose I should be glad that you didn't bring your suspicions to the colonel." He glanced around the barracks once before lowering his voice even further. "When I saw those weapons, it gave me an idea. Why should we stand back and watch as those three fliers get back to London? If we're armed, we can make the escape, too; we can meet with those underground agents and get out of 'ere!"

"Are you crazy?" LeBeau countered. "You accepted the mission; that means you must follow orders!"

"Oh, come off it!" the Englishman replied. "So what of 'e is a colonel; 'e ain't in my army—or yours. I don't 'ave to answer to 'im, and neither do you!"

"_Pierre_, we cannot-!"

"Louis, just listen to me," Newkirk said. "You and I 'ave been 'ere a ruddy long time. I must've come up with nearly two dozen escape ideas-"

"_Oui_, and they all failed," LeBeau reminded him. "I have lost count of the number of times I ended up in the cooler because I went along with those plans of yours!"

"Don't you see, Louis? This time, it'll work!" Newkirk said. "We've got a tunnel that leads outside of camp, and a contact to get us to London!"

"First of all, I urge you to stop saying 'we' and 'us,' as though I am going to go along with you on this mad journey," the Frenchman said. "Second of all, it would be betraying _Colonel_ Hogan's trust and jeopardizing the mission!"

"Oh, _forget_ the blooming mission!" the younger corporal said. "What do you owe this colonel? What 'as 'e ever done for you? I mean, look at you right now. You're breaking your back making apple strudel just to feed Schultz, and the colonel even said that 'e would eat it if Schultz didn't!"

"That is not the point," LeBeau said, as he went on preparing the strudel. "And I would hardly call this back-breaking labor."

"It doesn't bother you that you're running around using your culinary skills for other people when you could be feeding your own countrymen?" Newkirk asked.

"Well, of course it bothers me," LeBeau said. "But how could I possibly-?"

"If you escaped to London with me, you could join the Free French forces," Newkirk went on. As LeBeau's shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, the Englishman knew that he had successfully struck a nerve. "You know, I think the _Croix de Lorraine_ would suit you… unless, of course, you'd rather stay 'ere, as per the colonel's orders instead of fighting to free your 'omeland. But orders are orders, eh? I'll be thinking of you when I see those Free French forces in London, and 'ow you would've fit right in."

He began to whistle "La Marseillaise" nonchalantly as LeBeau clenched a fist.

Newkirk had turned away from the table when he heard the slam of the mixing bowl against the table. A smirk crossed his face as LeBeau angrily began to chide him in French.

"And furthermore, how dare you try to imply that I am not wishing to liberate my home?" the irate chef said, after switching back to English.

"Then if that's what you want to do, Louis, come with me!" Newkirk offered. "We can make a break for it tonight, you and me."

LeBeau looked away as the yearning desire to fight for his beloved France clashed with the code of honor he was expected to adhere to. Colonel Hogan was counting on him, but Newkirk was right; the people of France were counting on him, too.

"I need time to think," he said, picking up his mixing bowl again.

"Sure, mate, sure; you finish that strudel and get back to me," the Englishman said, clambering onto his bunk. "I'll be 'aving a kip in the meantime."

LeBeau was too deep in thought to reply, wondering how life could get so complicated in the span of a mere five minutes.


	2. Out Into the Night

_Author's notes: Many thanks to Bits And Pieces for the court-martial angle!_

* * *

LeBeau and Newkirk's argument, although not overheard, had not gone unnoticed by the colonel. After Olsen had left the office, Hogan had proceeded to watch the quiet argument between the two Europeans by leaving the door slightly ajar.

"I understand a lot of things, Sir," said Kinch, taking a glance at the two corporals. "But I'm not sure why you want to have Newkirk back us up when you and I both know that he doesn't want any part of it. To Newkirk, that tunnel is an escape route waiting to be trekked."

"How bad of a temptation would it be?"

"Let me put it this way: if there was a prize for 'Most Stir-Crazy,' Newkirk would win it."

"I had a feeling," Hogan replied, with a sigh. "That's why I had Newkirk assigned to backup with LeBeau; I'm hoping that our French friend can convince Newkirk not to go."

"Never mind that Newkirk's probably the one trying to convince LeBeau to go along with him," Kinch said. "I've been here long enough to see how they work, Sir; Newkirk comes up with the half-baked escape ideas and manages to drag LeBeau along with him. LeBeau wants nothing more than to fight for his country again, and he knows that escaping is the best way to get back into the fight."

"He seems okay with my orders of no more escapes," Hogan said. "But I guess some smooth talk from Newkirk might change his mind?"

"Newkirk's the smoothest talker of them all," Kinch said, fervently. "The men of Barracks Two alone owe him the equivalent of 300 pounds after being hooked in to the poker and blackjack games."

"Thanks for the warning," Hogan replied, slightly amused. "And I already found out about his habit of 'accidentally' opening lockers that aren't his own." He began to pace his office as Newkirk ended the conversation with LeBeau. "A man like that could be valuable to the operation."

"Assuming he doesn't blow it by escaping," said Kinch. "What do we do, Colonel?"

"As a precaution, we could alert the underground and let them know about Newkirk's situation," Hogan answered, after thinking about it for a moment. "We could instruct them not to aid him in his escape; they'd even send him back here. But I only want to use that as a last resort; stopping his escape would only turn him against the operation ever further. That's why I'm going to gamble on LeBeau."

"That's quite a big gamble, Sir, if you don't mind my opinion."

"You're my second-in-command, Kinch; I _depend_ on your opinion."

* * *

LeBeau was lost in thought as he prepared the apple strudel. It was fortunate that cooking was second nature for him; the quality of the strudel was not compromised by the chef's divided attention.

The Frenchman was torn. He knew that it was his duty to obey Colonel Hogan's orders, even if it meant not being able to help liberate France. But there was more to it than wanting to join the Free French forces; even if he decided to stay here, it would not stop Newkirk from going off on his own. If that happened, LeBeau would likely never see his friend again.

_You are making this so difficult, Pierre_, he thought. _Why can you not give the operation a try?_

He mulled over these thoughts as time ticked on, and as the strudel attained perfection. The aroma was enough to awaken Newkirk from his nap.

"Ruddy shame for you to make that just for Schultz," he said, seeing the finished strudel. "But you'll soon be able to forget all about 'im."

He leaped down from his bunk and began rummaging through his footlocker. He knew that he would have to travel light, and was settling on which of his possessions he could afford to leave behind.

"Pierre, do not take this the wrong way," LeBeau said, realizing that there wasn't much time left for him to change Newkirk's mind; they would be moving out in about an hour. "But I think you are making a huge mistake by escaping."

"I know; I 'aven't forgotten that this lot owes me 300 quid, but it's a sacrifice for freedom-"

"What freedom?" LeBeau asked. "Hasn't it occurred to you that you could be court-martialed if you escape? You would be going against the orders of your commanding officer!"

Newkirk gave him a look.

"You can't use the excuse that you aren't in the same army as _Colonel_ Hogan; I told you earlier that London put him in charge here!" LeBeau went on.

"So, that's it, then?" Newkirk asked. "I'm on me own for this?"

"I'm trying to tell you that you should stay here, too!" the Frenchman said, using every ounce of self-control to keep his voice quiet. "You could at least try a couple missions before jumping to your conclusions, _non_?"

"Blimey, Louis, I thought that you'd go with me on this," Newkirk said. "But since you're staying, could you see to collecting the 300 quid?"

LeBeau countered, in his native tongue, with several phrases comparing Newkirk's head to a brick wall. Newkirk was half-amused, even though he knew very well that he was being insulted.

"Schultz is coming!" Olsen suddenly announced, having kept a watch at the barracks door. "It's past lights-out!"

LeBeau cursed, concealing the strudel within two plates and hiding it in his footlocker before he, along with the rest of the men, hurriedly scrambled into their respective bunks.

Schultz gave the men his usual lecture on how it would be a great help to him if they could only listen to the rules so that he would not have to be forced to hike all the way across the compound to tell them to turn the lights out at the appointed time.

"I am not a young man," he said. "And-"

"—a man with a wife and five children should not be forced to march around the compound so late at night," the men chorused, having heard the same words countless times.

"Jolly jokers…" the big man murmured. He turned to go, but paused, starting to sniff at the air. "Funny… I thought I smelled _apfelstrudel_…"

"Blimey, Shultzie, you really _are_ tired," Newkirk said, biting back a smirk.

"_Ja_, you see? Now, no monkey business!" he threw over his shoulder as he lumbered out.

LeBeau breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the guard hadn't investigated further.

"I highly doubt that he's going to come back again for a bed check," Kinch mused. "The night _should_ go smoothly."

He glanced at Newkirk as he said this, prompting the Englishman to frown and cast a questioning glance at LeBeau. The Frenchman shook his head emphatically, mouthing that he hadn't told a soul of Newkirk's intentions, even though his better judgment had told him to do so.

"I'm sure the mission will be successful," said Hogan, opening the door to his office again. "Kinch, bring the men in here; we may as well get them equipped and ready to go."

Kinch led the trio inside, where they each received a flashlight and a weapon, with instructions to use it only as a very last resort; consequences would be serious if they wounded or killed an enemy soldier.

Each group of two received a walkie-talkie. Newkirk was noticeably edgy; Kinch knew something about the Englishman's ulterior motives, which meant that Hogan did, too. And yet, the colonel was letting him go on the mission as planned. LeBeau, of course, was silently pleading for Newkirk to reconsider his decision. And even Olsen, who knew nothing of Newkirk's plans, was still able to sense the uneasy vibes among the others.

"It's almost time," Hogan said, checking his watch after some time had passed. "Olsen, let's get to the tunnel. When we meet at M—14, our identification phrase is 'This porridge is too hot.' They will respond with 'This porridge is too cold.'"

"Cor blimey," Newkirk said, snarking at the choice of phrases. "Who came up with that?"

"London," Hogan responded.

Newkirk rolled his eyes; it only confirmed his suspicions of how off-kilter their alleged superiors were.

Olsen was the first to head out into the barracks and down the trapdoor. Hogan headed in that direction, but paused to address the two corporals.

"Remember: fifteen minutes," he said, before continuing into the tunnel. "Those men are counting on you."

"And I'd better man the radio," Kinch said, going down the tunnel after Hogan went down, leaving the two corporals alone.

Wordlessly, LeBeau gestured to the tunnel where their commanding officer had been moments before.

"Right, I know what you're going to say," Newkirk said, uninterested in hearing it. "I should take those words to 'eart and go through with the mission."

"Then why is it so difficult for you?" LeBeau asked. "You act as though the rest of us want to stay here! I know you, Pierre; there is more to this than getting yourself home. What is it?"

"Yeah, you know me, and you can't even get me bloomin' name right…"

"_D'accord_, Peter," LeBeau responded, stressing the English form of the name. "So will you continue to duck the question?"

"Oh, look at that!" the Englishman exclaimed, checking his watch. "Only seven minutes to go. My, my, my; we'd better get ourselves ready in that tunnel, eh? We wouldn't want to be late!"

"If it were for the fact that I know your true plan, I would give you credit for being so concerned and dedicated to the mission," LeBeau said, as he followed Newkirk down into the tunnel. He fell silent as they passed by Kinch, who cast them a glance as they headed further down the underground passageway.

Newkirk was the first one of the two to open the tree trunk trapdoor and step out into the freedom of the night when the time came. At last, for the first time in nearly two years, he was outside the fence of Stalag 13. The very air smelled of freedom; it was an utterly exhilarating sensation.

LeBeau soon came up out of the tunnel, closing the tree trunk door behind him. The two corporals hit the ground as the searchlight from the nearest watchtower swept by them in an arc.

As soon as the coast was clear, Newkirk headed into the woods, with LeBeau right behind him.

"Louis, there's no point in you trying to dissuade me," he said. "You go finish this ruddy mission if you want; I'm going 'ome!"

"Pierre… Peter," LeBeau corrected himself. "Please! If you are not going to stay for the sake of _Colonel_ Hogan or the mission, then stay for my sake, if for no other reason!"

Newkirk did stop in his tracks for a moment.

"Louis, you're making this ruddy difficult…"

"Funny," LeBeau replied, sarcastically. "That's what I was thinking when you tried to convince me to go with you. It wasn't easy for me to decide to stay here, especially when it seems that there is nothing I can do to stop you from going. It wasn't the threat of a court-martial that convinced me to stay; it was because I was given a direct order, and I will obey it!" He looked up in order to glare at his taller friend. "I am not just thinking about myself!"

"And I suppose you think I'm only doing this for meself?" Newkirk countered. "You asked me earlier about the real reason why I wanted to leave. It's nothing to do with just getting out of 'ere; there's more to it than that. I've got-"

Newkirk suddenly fell silent as voices mixed with footsteps from a point several yards away.

"Down!" LeBeau hissed, and they hit the ground again.

"We couldn't 'ave caught up with them already…" Newkirk murmured, trying to glance through the trees to see who was talking.

"_Non_, it can't be them; they went in that direction," LeBeau said, indicating the way to the rendezvous point. "And the voices are coming from here…" He trailed off as he glanced in the direction of the voices. Three silhouettes were barely visible in the dim moonlight.

"Maybe the fliers got confused; they might've ended up 'ere by accident?" the Englishman wondered aloud. He squinted, not wanting to use his flashlight in case it wasn't the three fliers. "I can't make out the uniforms."

"I don't think they _are_ uniforms," said LeBeau, frowning. His eyes suddenly widened as the silhouettes drew out weapons, motioning to each other to search the area. And with a flash of horror, he suddenly realized who they were. "Ge—_mmmph_!"

Newkirk had covered the Frenchman's mouth with his hand, coming to the same realization almost simultaneously.

"We know who they are, and they know who they are; there's no need to broadcast it," the Englishman whispered, glaring at the three plainclothes agents. His chances for escape were now next to nothing; the woods were probably full of them.

"Olsen _et le Colonel_!" LeBeau whispered, after Newkirk released his mouth. "We must warn them!"

He pulled out the walkie-talkie, but Newkirk made a grab for it.

"Are you mad? The goons will 'ear you for certain!"

"We have to warn the others; that's what we were assigned to do!" LeBeau retorted, his anger audible, even though his words could barely be heard. "At least _I_ will follow orders! You were going to run off and find that underground agent anyway!"

"Cor… that underground agent's goose will be cooked if these goons 'ave anything to say about it," Newkirk realized. "I'd better go find the poor sap; I already memorized the shortest distance between 'ere and there. I could pass the word quicker than anyone."

LeBeau glared at the younger corporal. As much as the Frenchman hated to admit it, Newkirk had a point. But it was a point that the Englishman was going to use to his own advantage; Newkirk would undoubtedly vanish along with the agent… assuming he even made it there at all with these monsters searching the woods.

"There is nothing I can do to stop you, but I am still going to tell _Colonel_ Hogan to call off the mission. I shall also have to tell him that you have gone," LeBeau said, admitting defeat. He glanced back at the three agents, who were still discussing how to search the area.

Newkirk watched them, too.

"You tell 'im whatever you like; Kinch seems to know already, so I'm guessing the colonel does too," he said. "And if I'm going to slip by the goons, then now is the time. Take care, Louis."

"_Et vous_, _mon ami_. _Bonne chance_."

Newkirk nodded in reply. Never taking his eyes off of the three agents, he slowly crept away, hugging the shadows of the trees.

LeBeau watched him go. He struggled to ignore the growing thought that, one way or another, he would never see his best friend again.


	3. A Job to Do

_Author notes: The code names given to Hogan, LeBeau, and Newkirk are all canon. Hogan, of course, is Papa Bear. I did this even though in the early seasons, Papa Bear was originally referring to London; I dismissed it as a case of inconsistent writing and gave him the code name of Papa Bear from the beginning. LeBeau's code name of Big Bad Wolf was used in episode 3, "Kommandant of the Year," and Newkirk's code name of Phantom was used in episode 157, "The Gypsy."_

* * *

Blissfully unaware of the plainclothes agents searching the area, Hogan and Olsen successfully made contact with the three fliers.

"Sergeant Everett, RAF," the leader of the men said, after the password and countersign had been given to both parties' satisfaction. He saluted the Colonel, as did the corporal and private. "And over here, we've got Corporal William Gardner and Private Samuel Wheeler from your own Air Corps."

"Any problems?" Hogan asked, returning the salutes.

"To be honest, Sir," Everett replied. "There was a spot of trouble when it seemed as though we had been spotted by a civilian late last evening; he was chopping wood and surprised us as much as we surprised him. We hid, Sir, and the man went on his way."

Hogan frowned; officer's intuition told him that this did not bode well. And, almost as though to confirm his thoughts, his walkie-talkie suddenly crackled to life.

"Big Bad Wolf to Papa Bear," LeBeau's quiet but stressed voice spoke. "Big Bad Wolf to Papa Bear; come in, _s'il vous plaît_!"

"Go ahead, Big Bad Wolf," Hogan replied.

"Phantom and I have confirmed visual sighting of three Wicked Witches near Home Base—repeat, three Wicked Witches near Home Base, heading your way."

Hogan cursed under his breath as Olsen paled. The civilian must have reported seeing the fliers.

"Abort the mission!" LeBeau went on.

"Negative; it's too late for that," Hogan replied. "We've got to take them back to Home Base with us." He shut his eyes for a moment, determining what to do. "Listen up, Big Bad Wolf; you and Phantom get back to Home Base. We'll join you there later." Hogan frowned as he was met with an awkward silence. "Phantom _is_ with you, isn't he?"

"Negative, Papa Bear," came the somewhat meek reply. "Phantom left to warn Guiding Light."

"If that's the case, then there's nothing more we can do for him," Hogan said, suppressing a sigh. If Newkirk was lucky enough to make it, he would likely go into hiding with the underground contact. He would probably then attempt to follow the chain to London, but would find himself cut off by the special orders that the colonel had told Kinch to relay. After that, well… he'd end up back in Stalag 13, probably more upset than ever before. But that would only happen if, by some miracle, Newkirk avoided capture—or worse—tonight.

"Understood, Papa Bear," LeBeau said, quietly.

"Good; get going," Hogan ordered. "Papa Bear over and out."

"Trouble, Sir?" Everett asked.

"Afraid so; we're going to have to dodge some goons to get back to camp," the colonel answered. "And it also means keeping you in the tunnels until we come up with a Plan B. We can't rush our retreat; stay quiet and hug the shadows."

The men nodded, following the colonel to what they hoped was safety.

* * *

Newkirk, in the meantime, had proceeded to traverse through the woods quickly rather than quietly; he was hoping to beat the three agents to the rendezvous point. His noisy approach had caused the underground agent to draw a gun on him before he had even come into view. Newkirk had expected this, and was ready to identify himself, but he had not expected their contact to be a beautiful, young woman.

"This porridge is too hot…" he said, but then trailed off as he realized that he was talking to a woman face-to-face for the first time in nearly two years. "Cor Blimey…"

The woman blinked, and gave him the countersign, finally lowering her weapon. "I am Guiding Light," she said. "You are Papa Bear? Where are the others?"

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but I'm not Papa Bear," Newkirk replied. "I'm an associate of 'is, as it were. We've got to scrap the mission; I saw three plainclothes agents in the woods, searching the place. There may be more; you can't stay 'ere."

"Nor can you," she said. "I have a car waiting, not too far from here; I can hide you in Hammelburg."

"Oh, ta," the corporal replied, with a grin.

He started to follow Guiding Light as she turned to lead him towards the car, but the both of them froze at the sound of a single gunshot originating from the direction that led towards Stalag 13.

"Who could that have been?" Guiding Light asked, her voice hardly above a whisper.

Newkirk shrugged, uncertain. It was just one shot; it could've been anyone. There didn't seem to be any return fire, either. And yet… Newkirk couldn't silence the nagging thought in his head that one or more of his colleagues was in trouble. Would LeBeau have come out all this way to find him, even though they had agreed that he return as soon as possible? Even if it wasn't LeBeau… even if it was either the colonel or Olsen, Newkirk knew he couldn't abandon them to a fate like this, no matter how much he wanted to go home.

"Quickly," Guiding Light instructed. "We must go; the shot will draw them here."

"Exactly," Newkirk murmured. He clenched a fist, not even believing the words he was about to utter. "I can't go with you; I need to check up on this."

"I understand," the young woman replied. "Good luck."

Newkirk watched her go, knowing that he was losing his chance to escape. It wasn't too late to change his mind again; he could just call out to her, and she would stop and wait for him…

But the Englishman turned back to face the direction he had come from. There wasn't a single sound, which, after the gunshot, was terrifying. Having only just caught his breath from running, he proceeded to tear back through the woods.

_I'm sorry, Mavis_.

The Englishman was struggling to make good time through the forest while making as little noise as possible. As he ran closer and closer towards the area where the shot had originated, the silence grew more and more maddening.

There was reason to worry; one of the plainclothes agents had been nearing the area where Hogan had been leading the others. The moon had hidden behind a cloud since the last several minutes, limiting the agent's vision, but he had heard the cracking of a stick. In an attempt to try to flush whoever was in hiding, he had fired his gun into the air, which would have the added effect of summoning the other two agents to help investigate the matter.

Hogan flinched, praying that the men would not react too much. He could see them starting slightly in fear; Olsen's heart had practically jumped in fright, and it had taken all of his self-control to keep the rest of him from following suit. But, thankfully, they had not overreacted.

Hogan silently motioned them to continue following him, ever so slowly.

"If they fire again, run, and don't look back," he whispered so quietly that he could barely hear himself.

Newkirk was now arriving from the side opposite of the solitary agent. It took him only a moment to realize that he was not alone; the other two agents were approaching from the same direction as he was, albeit, thankfully, several yards away. He could just make out their silhouettes. The corporal froze as he saw them, now trying to figure out a way to inch further away from them. He was approaching the solitary agent from the west, while the other agents were coming from the northwest; with a bit of fancy footwork, he could bank south, towards camp, and avoid all three of them.

The solitary agent across from Newkirk was now training his flashlight around the area that led southward, determined to find the source of the snapping twig. Hogan and the others were still slinking away in that direction; they had almost made it to a point far enough away to avoid being spotted when the flashlight beam fell on Everett, who had been bringing up the rear. For the briefest instant, the beam illuminated a figure in RAF blue—a sight which both the solo agent and corporal happened to see.

Newkirk's mind raced for that instant as Everett took off, running after Hogan and the others, and as the agent ordered the sergeant to stop. The corporal positioned himself to face southeast, drew his gun, and fired. He had been aiming at the flashlight, and his aim had been true; the agent swore in his own tongue as the instrument went flying out of his hand. And by facing southeast, the shot could easily be blamed upon the two arriving agents.

Newkirk now banked southward, moving to follow the path that the others had gone down as shots rang out from behind him. He hardly believed his luck as the two agents began exchanging fire with the solitary one, but his luck was short-lived as the solitary agent began to angrily yell at his colleagues.

"_You fools; it's me!_ _There's an Englishman nearby! Stop him!_"

Two flashlight beams filled the area as the other agents realized that they had accidentally fired upon their own man.

"_There he is! Fire!_"

Newkirk tried to run faster, but his luck had now run out. A searing pain struck his leg, a couple of inches above his right knee, bringing him to the ground. Thinking quickly, he clawed at the ground to create a small hole to bury the gun he had used. He was finished just before the three agents caught up to him, and he raised his hands up in surrender, hoping that they wouldn't notice the patch of dirt in the dark.

"On your feet! _Schnell_!"

"I'm afraid that's impossible, on account of the bloomin' bullet you lot put in me leg."

Unsympathetic to his injury, one of the men forced Newkirk up. The corporal gritted his teeth in pain, resorting to using a branch as a crutch to help stay upright.

"Who are you! What are you doing here this late!" one of the men asked.

Newkirk was itching to reply that even a fool could tell why he was out here, but he decided that he was too injured to further tempt fate.

"Corporal Newkirk," he introduced himself, glaring at his captors. "I just broke out of Stalag 13." He jerked his head in the direction of the camp.

"I see," one of the agents said, with a smirk. "And we seemed to have spoiled your little journey, eh?"

"You might say that, yeah," Newkirk answered, flinching as the pain from his leg flared.

"_Shall we take him into town for questioning?_" one of the men asked the others.

"_No; we will take him back to Stalag 13. The Kommandant will be able to verify his story. If he belongs there, then we will leave him there_."

With the other agents agreeing to this plan, they forced Newkirk to walk back to camp, in spite of his injury. The poor Englishman resorted to both using the branch crutch and hopping forward on his good leg in order to limit the amount of pain he felt.

Long before this, though, Hogan, Olsen, and the three fliers had successfully made it back into the tunnel. LeBeau had been waiting for them, beside himself with worry for everyone. Kinch hadn't seemed surprised to see LeBeau return alone, and now the two of them, along with Hogan and Olsen, were awake in the barracks, exchanging their stories and trying to determine what to do next regarding the fliers and Newkirk's absence.

They had just decided on calling Oscar Schnitzer to make a special delivery in order to use the dog truck to get the fliers out when Newkirk was brought in through the front gates, causing a commotion outside.

His curiosity piqued, Olsen opened the door of the barracks a crack to look.

"It's Newkirk!" he exclaimed.

"_Quoi_?" LeBeau nearly yelled, running to take a look. Hardly daring to believe it, he froze in horror to see his friend in the hands of the three agents. Horror soon turned to physical illness as LeBeau saw the blood coming from Newkirk's wound. Unable to look any further, he sat back on the nearest bunk, covering his mouth as his stomach threatened to lurch. "They've shot him!" he rasped, when he finally dared to open his mouth.

Hogan and Kinch were already at the door before LeBeau's announcement, and Hogan quietly cursed again to see the agents forcing Newkirk to stand despite the wound.

"Looks like a fair amount of blood," Kinch said. "But I guess it could've been worse."

"I'm not sure how bad it is, but I'll find out," said Hogan, exiting the barracks.

Langenscheidt, who had opened the gates to let Newkirk and the agents in, had gone to get Schultz and Klink, the latter thoroughly displeased at being awakened at this unearthly hour. The colonel had slipped his long overcoat over his pajamas, glaring at Newkirk through his monocle.

"_Is this one of your prisoners?_" one of the men asked.

"_Yes, he is_," Klink answered, with a sigh. He then addressed Newkirk in English. "Newkirk, how many failed escape attempts does this make now?"

"To be honest, Sir, I lost count 'round twelve."

The Englishman wobbled, unsteady on his wounded leg, which prompted Klink to flinch.

"_We demand that this man be seriously punished_," one of the agents insisted, furious. "_Because we were trying to stop him from escaping, my colleagues and I ended up opening fire on each other. Thankfully, the only damage done was to my flashlight._"

"Rest assured, Gentlemen; the appropriate disciplinary reactions will be taken," Klink responded. As the satisfied agents turned to go, Klink addressed Newkirk again. "Corporal Newkirk, you are hereby sentenced to thirty days in the cooler!" He waited for the men to be out of earshot before adding, quietly, "Sentence to begin immediately after you recover from your injury." He glared at the retreating agents, biting back his disdain for them.

Newkirk gave a nod, flinching again as the pain increased.

"Schultz, take Newkirk to the infirmary," Klink ordered. "Inform the medic… What is his name again?"

"Sergeant Wilson, Colonel," Hogan informed him.

"Oh, thank you… _Hogan_!" Klink fumed, glaring at him. "What are you doing out of barracks?"

"One of my men has been injured; I'm here to find out what happened," Hogan replied.

Newkirk stared at the ground, not sure if he could face Hogan after what had happened.

"I'd like to know the same thing!" Klink said, stomping his foot.

"I think, of course, we should let Newkirk rest before we proceed with the questioning," Hogan said, as Newkirk noticeably winced in pain again. "And he won't get any rest with that bullet in his leg."

"First of all, 'we' are not going to be questioning him; _I_ will be doing the questioning!" Klink said. "And secondly, I already ordered to have him sent to the infirmary! SCHULTZ!"

"At once, Herr Kommandant!" the big man replied.

Newkirk rolled his eyes as he suffered the indignity of being carried by Schultz.

"Remember, Newkirk—name, rank, and serial number!" Hogan called after him. "No need to tell them how you went over the wire!"

"Aha!" Klink exclaimed. "The wire! I will have the entire fence replaced with a better wire at once!"

Hogan snapped his fingers, pretending to be frustrated for letting it "slip out." Internally, though, he was smirking; their tunnel was safe, for now. Now, he just had to worry about Newkirk, but the corporal's fate was in Wilson's hands. There was nothing he could do.

Hogan returned to the barracks to tell the men the news, but it did nothing to alleviate their worries. LeBeau refused to go back to sleep; he paced the tunnel, praying that Newkirk would be fine. Olsen and Hogan got to work, getting Everett, Gardner, and Wheeler outfitted with the things they would need for their journey to England.

Kinch got in touch with the underground. The person he spoke with agreed to have Schnitzer come by before dawn, but also added a P.S. to "thank the British corporal who might have very well saved Guiding Light's life."

The staff sergeant pondered over this, relaying the message to Hogan.

"He made contact with Guiding Light?" the colonel asked, surprised. "When he got captured, I assumed it was because he didn't make it in time."

"He came back…" LeBeau said, stunned. "It might have been from what I said." He shuddered; if that was the case, then it was his fault that Newkirk had been shot.

"We can find out from him after Wilson gives us the okay to talk to him," Hogan said. "But first, these three will soon be on their way to London."

"Thanks to Corporal Newkirk," Everett said. "I know they had their flashlight on me for an instant, Sir; they must have mistaken him for me because of the uniform."

Hogan gave a nod. Piecing together the bits of information he had picked up, he began to get a better picture of what happened. And he somehow knew that one of those shots had been from Newkirk.

Time ticked by even more, and, finally, Wilson arrived in the barracks, looking slightly weary; his arrival prompted everyone to come aboveground.

"How is he?" LeBeau asked.

"He's going to be fine," the medic assured him. "It was only a flesh wound—looked a lot worse than it really was. The bullet's out, and he's resting now. Schultz is standing guard over the infirmary; apparently, no one is allowed to see him until he's questioned by Klink. But I expect you'll find a way around that, Sir."

"I expect we will. Good work, Wilson," Hogan said. As LeBeau uttered a prayer of thanks, the colonel found himself in full agreement. There was no need to disturb Newkirk now.

"One more thing, Sir," said Wilson. "Schnitzer is here."

Hogan nodded, and turned to Everett. "Time to move you three out of here."

"We will never forget this, Colonel," said Everett, saluting him, as did Gardner and Wheeler.

"Langenscheidt is talking to Schnitzer," Olsen said, taking a look. "I think we can overwhelm him if we all go tearing out there, inquiring about Newkirk. That'll create the diversion that Everett and the others will need."

Hogan gave a nod, the smirk returning to his face. "Let's go."

* * *

The diversion and escape went like clockwork, although Klink was beside himself with frustration for having so many prisoners out of barracks. Realizing that they were concerned for Newkirk, however, he could hardly blame them. But, still… rules were rules. He threatened the men with a loss of privileges, upon which they backed off. By that time, of course, Everett, Gardner, and Wheeler were long gone.

The apple strudel from the previous night proved to be useful in bribing Schultz to grant Hogan, LeBeau, Kinch, and Olsen access to the infirmary for ten minutes the following morning, even though Klink hadn't had a chance to question Newkirk (he was still in bed, trying to catch up on the sleep he had missed during the night).

"_Mon pauvre ami_…" LeBeau whispered, as he saw Newkirk lying with his eyes closed.

"I didn't want to have to wake him to get the story," Hogan sighed. "But I think I have a pretty clear picture of what happened. Newkirk warned Guiding Light and then came back; he must have been the one who shot at that agent who saw Everett. He gave us the chance to escape, getting wounded and caught in the process."

"That's about it, Guv'nor…"

"You're awake!" Olsen exclaimed, staring at the mischievous grin on the Englishman's face.

"Well, you know 'ow it is; one can only stare at the ceiling for so long."

LeBeau began to scold him in French as Hogan suppressed a laugh.

"He's going to make a full recovery, all right…" Kinch mused, with a shake of his head.

"Newkirk, you saved a lot of lives out there last night," Hogan said.

The young corporal gave a wan smile. "I suppose you know, Sir, I 'adn't really intended to; I was sore about your no-escape policy, and I wanted right out of it. I don't know what 'appened to me, Sir; I was all set to go with Guiding Light, but then I 'eard the shot…" He shrugged his shoulders again. "I couldn't go."

"Newkirk, how badly do you want to return to England?" Hogan asked. "I was against the idea at first, but we may be able to work something out; if we can get you transferred, the underground can arrange for you to escape en route to another stalag."

"Well, Sir, I won't deny that I'd like to go 'ome," said Newkirk. "But I've done some thinking while I've been lying 'ere, and… maybe I was a little too quick to make snap decisions. I think I'll stay on." He chuckled at the disbelieving look on LeBeau's face. "That's right, little mate; I actually mean it… this time."

"Glad to have you aboard, Newkirk," Kinch said.

"Yeah," Hogan agreed. "You rest up; I'll see if I can convince Klink to reduce your cooler sentence. We might be getting another assignment from London soon, and I'd like to have you aboard for it."

"You can count on me, Sir," the Englishman responded. He hesitated at first, but then raised his arm and saluted the colonel.

"At ease," Hogan said, as he always did, returning the salute. He knew, without a doubt, that Newkirk was going to be a part of the team. "All right, let's leave the man to recuperate; our ten minutes are almost up, anyway."

"_Pardon, mon Colonel_, but may I stay for a few more minutes?" LeBeau asked. "I'd like to get Pierre… I mean… Peter's breakfast order."

"Oh, go ahead and call me what you want," Newkirk said, with a roll of his eyes. "I wasn't serious, you know."

Hogan gave a nod, exiting with Kinch and Olsen.

"You know 'ow to make a full English breakfast?" Newkirk asked LeBeau, after the others had left.

"I'll get to your order in a moment," the Frenchman replied. "I'm curious as to your change of heart; you were about to give me a very good reason for why you were going last night. You said you weren't going for your own sake."

"That was true," Newkirk said, with a sigh. He looked around, making sure that Wilson was too preoccupied to hear him. "You've 'eard me mention me sister on occasion, right?"

"_Oui_—Mavis."

"That's 'er," Newkirk agreed. "Ever since Mum died and Dad took to the bottle, I've been the only one she's got left who even cares for 'er a little bit. I know she's old enough to look after 'erself, but ever since the Blitz…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "The war's been so cruel to 'er. The building with the flat she lived in was damaged; they forced 'er to leave, and she's been moving from shelter to shelter.

"The letters I get are so 'eartbreaking, Louis. 'Peter, I don't know what to do anymore; I wish you could come back. Life wouldn't be so miserable, then. I'm so lost, Peter, and it isn't like me at all…'"

He sighed, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

"Tell me, Louis… 'ow was I supposed to read those letters and be expected to stay in this ruddy cage?"

"_Je comprends, mon pote_," LeBeau replied, a new respect forming for his younger friend. "Now I must ask you why you are staying."

"It's like I told the colonel; I've been doing some thinking," Newkirk replied. "Yes, it's true that Mavis is 'aving a terrible time there. But at least she survived; I've lost so many mates—people I'd known since I was a lad. And I got to thinking last night… Mavis is alive now. But what if there's another Blitz? Will she be that lucky again?

"Then it got me—the colonel's plan. Because of 'im and this operation, we're getting our lads back up in the air to fight back in case there _is_ another one. And there's more than that; I know there wasn't enough of a chance to talk to that sergeant, but maybe I can get in touch with people who can 'elp Mavis once they get to London. So, indirectly, I can 'elp 'er in more ways than one."

"I know you will, Pierre," LeBeau said. "Just as I can help my family somehow, too."

Newkirk raised the glass of water by his bedside table.

"To our families," he said.

LeBeau raised a nonexistent glass in response. "_Nos familles_."

Newkirk waited for a moment before suppressing another chuckle.

"_Quoi_?" LeBeau asked, seeing his expression.

"Louis, were you serious about taking a breakfast order?"

"_Oui_; tell me."

"Well, if you could lay your 'ands on a couple of kippers, that'd be a good start," Newkirk began. "Then some fried mushrooms and tomatoes, along with some toast, of course… And I reckon you couldn't go wrong with potatoes…"

LeBeau listened patiently, shaking his head in amusement as Newkirk went on. If this breakfast order was any indication, their time with the new operation was going to be very interesting indeed.


End file.
